


The Incidents

by EraBlaise



Category: Mirandy - Fandom, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:04:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EraBlaise/pseuds/EraBlaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy had a secret admirer and it was driving her crazy. Not to mention her new feelings for Miranda and the new second assistant who was driving her crazy. <br/>"Approximately 57 minutes after I survived my suicidal move - I did watch the time - a delivery guy entered the lobby and I looked up at the ceiling, hoping for some guidance because I so had the feeling it was for me.<br/>“I’m so not in Kansas anymore.” I muttered as the delivery guy stopped in front of my desk."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Watching Miranda Priestly telling someone off in that soft, quiet voice of hers is a precious sight if you are not the one getting fired. Watching the Devil in Prada in her element, chewing someone out like there’s no tomorrow… terrifying. And utterly amusing, after you get used to it, and no longer fear it. Not that anyone would be on that level, mind you. Even I, after almost two years of serving in the hell, I mean working at Runway, get that anxious, nauseating feeling in my stomach upon hearing those vicious words uttered in such a soft voice. I just recently noticed that those anxious feelings tend to pair up with butterflies dancing in my stomach, making my heart drum in my throat every time those passionate, deep blue eyes glance at me. And boy, do they glance at me! They seem to eat me alive every time they give me a once over in the mornings, followed by a gentle, small nod, which makes me blush like a schoolgirl and I swear I’ve seen them sparkle with amusement just before I look down at the notes in my hands and Miranda hides her lips behind the daily, hot as the sun cup of Starbucks. Or, in same cases, hot as her body. Yepp. Deliciously, dangerously, nipple-hardeningly sexy.  
“Andrea.” Oh shit. Getting called into the Devil’s most sacred chamber after she told someone off is just as terrifying as the act itself. Gird your loins, Andy.   
I hurried into Miranda’s office, only sparring one glance at the young man who practically ran out of the office.  
“Yes, Miranda?” I said with the warmest smile on my lips that I could muster in this situation. I almost missed Miranda’s first words because I was too busy ogling her boobs in the almost see through Michael Kors blouse.   
“Call Roy, I’ll be leaving in 10. Then call Nicole and tell her if I see snowflakes in The Book tonight she better call HR herself for her replacement.” I silently nodded while making notes on my pad and looked up when she stopped talking, my eyes stopping on her chest for a moment, a blush creeping up on my face upon seeing her play with the end of her necklace, the movements making the lace edges of her bra visible. I swallowed hard before jerking my eyes away and up to Miranda’s face, who wore a knowing little smirk on her lips. I swallowed hard, my voice breathless while asking if she needed anything else.   
“That’s all.” She whispered on her sultry voice and i turned around reflexively, both glad and sad that I wouldn’t be seeing her for some time.   
Exactly 7 minutes later - because when was Miranda Prieslty ever perfectly on time and not 2 eons early - the silent “Coat. Bag.” words echoed through the air as she confidently strode out of her office and I struggled to hand her the requested items while at the same time trying to shut the closet door and not die in the 4 inch Louboutins that kept killing my feet all day.   
As soon as La Priestly exited the office and the sight was clear I fell into my chair with a heavy thud and looked longingly at the empty desk in front of me. Since Emily got promoted Miranda went through 3 different assistants on an average week, leaving me to run around in the city like a headless chicken - a very stylishly dressed chicken, mind you, but still. At this point I could have begged for Emily to come back. Or for HR to send someone with two brain cells. 

It was some time in the afternoon - well, okay, it was precisely 2:55, in the middle of the 10 minutes break Miranda had between a meeting with Irv and a phone conversation with Patrick, when the unthinkable happened.   
Miranda Priestly walked towards me in her Prada heels, grabbed the back of my head and kissed me.  
Just kidding, that’s not what happened.  
A delivery guy walked into the Devil’s den, with a sleek box in his hands, the kind rich people put roses in. In the movies. Because that’s the only place I’ve seen those boxes, until that moment.   
I was ready to stand up and take it to bring it to Miranda - after checking the little card on it, of course, when his slightly nervous voice announced:  
“Delivery for Andrea Sachs.”   
Do you know, when in the fourth Harry Potter movie Dumbledore announces Harry’s name, and he kinda hops down on the bench again? Yeah, that was exactly what I did in that moment.  
“Uhm.. that… that would be me.” I smiled at him awkwardly. He placed the box on my desk, after I failed reaching for it and with a silent goodbye, he left.   
I kept staring at the box with my mouth agape, until my brain finally kicked in and I realized where I was. My eyes snapped up at assistant number 4 of the week, who was watching me with her eyes filled with surprise and… fear? She glanced in the direction of Miranda’s office and my head snapped into that direction too.   
Miranda was staring at the screen of her laptop, occasionally typing - but I was almost sure she had been watching me just a moment before.   
I hesitantly reached for the card attached to the box, half expecting it to be some kind of prank.  
Inside the card, there was one, lonely, carefully printed line.  
“What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”  
“Shakespeare.” I whispered.   
As expected, the box held a rose inside - a beautiful white rose, with thorns. I noticed this, as I went into the kitchenette with it, trying to find something I could place it in. There, next to the microwave was an elegant little vase - the kind expensive restaurants use to place a lonely flower in on the middle of the table.   
I could have sworn I’ve never seen it before in the kitchen.   
However, I filled it with water and placed the flower with it on my desk, next to my monitor.   
During the rest of the day I couldn’t help but admire it’s beauty.   
And that, was the first of them.   
Or, as I dubbed them in my mind, The Incidents. 

It was a glorious Saturday afternoon, and how better to celebrate a workless day (Miranda was out of the town and didn’t require my assistance for the trip, which should have bothered me but the promise of a workless weekend was so inviting that I couldn’t have cared less), than with a marathon of shows, provided by my old time lover, Netflix. And deliciously fatty chips. I was in heaven.   
So there was I, lying in sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, very much fashionless in my fuzzy socks, mind you, when my phone gave out a sound, cutting through the peace of my apartment, entirely silent besides the sounds of the television.  
I let out an un lady like groan. So much about the workless weekend.  
From Nigel:  
Are you home?  
I frowned. That was a… surprisingly calm message from someone spending a weekend with Miranda. I cautiously replied.  
To Nigel:  
Yes. Why?  
For the next two minutes I kept nervously glancing at the tiny, dark scene between my fingers.   
From Nigel:  
I’m jealous.   
I let out a relieved sigh. He was just teasing me. I was safe. No work.   
For a moment or two I contemplated how he had time in the middle of an out of town photoshoot with the Devil itself to text me, but, as it was the highlight of a workless weekend - I didn’t have to care.   
It was some hours later, while I was trying to eat a slice of pizza without making a mess of my couch, that my doorbell rang. And I groaned. Again.   
I pressed the button the let my visitor in the building and hoped with crossed fingers that it wasn’t Lily, because she was still kinda cross about the whole Nate situation.   
I rested my forehead against the cold door when the knock came and with a tired sigh I squared my shoulders and opened the door.  
And came face to face with a delivery guy. What the…?  
\- Andrea Sachs? - He asked and I nodded, dumbfounded.   
\- Delivery for you. - He said with a smile and held out a little gift bag for me, which I automatically took. I meant to ask him who it was from or what it was, but as soon as his hands were free he bid me goodnight, to which I nodded again - I really need to work on my people’s skills - and with that he set off, leaving me in my doorway in my worn sweats and old shirt, staring at the giftbag with a disbelieving look.   
I eventually set the bag on the kitchen counter and regarded it for a moment. Or five minutes.   
I, Andrea Sachs, who haven’t even got flowers from a date in her life, ever, just got gifts delivered to her, twice in a week. Someone call the Ghostbusters.   
With a determined sigh I reached for the bag and pulled out a bottle of red wine. And I almost dropped it upon glancing on the label, because the last time I’ve seen a wine this fancy was on a party where I distinctly remember wearing a Versace dress that cost more than my yearly income.   
A passionately whispered “holy shit” left my mouth and I hurriedly tore into the bag in hopes of finding something, anything, a clue to whom I got it, desperate to know who my secret admirer might be, because there was no way in Hell or Hogwarts that the wine and the flower were from two different people.   
And there it was - lying on the bottom of the giftbag, a plain but stylishly printed piece of paper.   
“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.”   
Shakespeare. Again.   
But who the hell could think that I was falling in love with them, and if they didn't want me to, then why did they keep sending me gifts…?  
Needless to say, the next morning I woke up with a headache. 

I wanted to kill the second assistant. I already had a solid plan of how I’d throw my Channel shoes at her head, choking her later with that obviously fake Hermes scarf she was always wearing around her neck. Always being a relatively short amount of time, since this was only her second day at Runway. And I seriously suspected that it was the last one, too.   
The first time I saw her, I let out a deep sigh, shook my head and fired off a text to HR department saying: 2 days. Coffee. 10 $.   
At Runway that meant the following: My bet on the “time until new assistant gets fired”: 2 days. Reason: fucked up coffee. Amount of money I’m willing to bet: 10 $.   
I was confident in my bet, having just won 15 $ and the right to wear the new Valentino shirt that came in the Closet for the first time the previous day, correctly guessing the amount of times Miranda would purse her lips on a run through. It was sheer luck, of course, but who needs to know that?  
Saying that I was nervous was an understatement. I was a wreck.   
First, after the relatively okay day I had training the new girl yesterday (for once in my life I would have been glad to lose a bet), I had hope. But it all disappeared when upon learning that Miranda wouldn’t be in until the afternoon, she let herself loose.   
She kept firing me questions, all of them starting with words such as “what do you think about…”, “have you seen the new”, “those new shoes are so amazing, don’t you think?”. No. I didn’t. But I seriously contemplated sending her on some errand that would keep her out of the office, and most importantly, my sight. That, or throwing something heavy at her head. Like a brick.   
So I did the one thing I could think of that would keep her out of the office and wouldn’t get me in trouble later - I sent her on a coffee run for Serena, Emily, Nigel and myself. Not like she did some actual office work to begin with and I finally had my peace.   
45 minutes. That how long it took her. After the first 15 mins I kept glancing at the watch and growing more nervous with every tick of the clock. If Miranda sends her on a coffee run, we are fucked.   
When she finally arrived she deposited my (cold) coffee on my desk and sit down at “hers”, all the while chatting on her phone. With a friend, from the sounds of it.   
I felt the muscles in my eyebrow starting to rhythmically twitch.   
After she put down her phone, I nicely (as nicely as I could, given the circumstances) asked her to focus on her work.   
“Oh come on Andy, relax, it’s not like the old lady will be back any time soon.”   
Yepp. That was her answer. And for a moment, my finger hovered over the “send” button on a text message to Karen at HR, asking if I could fire the second assistant. I doubted her answer would have been yes, so I swallowed down my feelings and set out to continue writing e-mails for the next hour.   
“Hey Andy, do you think I could get tomorrow off?” I froze at the question and stared at the girl in front of me, Brittany… Britney… something with B. And I almost asked her if she was for real. I blinked twice, still staring at her.   
“No.” I finally told her and focused back on my screen, and while I listened to her bitching about my answer, the only thought running around in my brain was: I need to get her fired.   
It’s no wonder if 3 hours later when Miranda arrived I almost broke my pencil into two while making notes on the tasks.   
We just arrived in front of the assistants’ area when from the corner of my eyes I saw the new girl hiding her phone on her lap. My eyes instantly narrowed and I let out a growl like sound which made Miranda pause and I instantly shut my eyes, whispering a silent “fuck” in my mind.  
“Is something the matter?” Miranda asked me from her doorway, arching a perfect eyebrow while watching me with… concern?   
I took a deep breath and decided… now or never.  
“You need to fire her.” I pointed my pencil at the new girl and Miranda’s eyebrows rose even higher, while said new girl let out a offended sound.   
“I can’t stand her.” I started to babble, realizing suddenly that I just gave an order to The Dragon.  
“She drives me crazy and I can’t work with her chatting the whole time and it took her almost an hour to get everyone coffees and seriously she’s wearing a fake Hermes scarf…” I trailed off in my complaining when my mind caught up with my actions again and I looked into Miranda’s eyes, taking a deep breath in hopes of concealing my sudden nervousness.   
The Queen of Fashion watched me with amusement in her eyes that did nothing to help ease me. Then after a long moment where I wished that the ground would open up under my feet, she looked at the new girl.  
“You are fired.” She looked at me “Call HR. I’m off to a meeting with Irv.”   
And just like that, the Devil itself brushed passed me and out of the office to a meeting with Irv for which she was… 5 minutes late? How did I not notice that?  
After I explained to the new girl that yes, indeed, she was fired just like that, I sat at my desk manning the phones, but mostly trying to figure out what the hell just happened here.   
Approximately 57 minutes after I survived my suicidal move - I did watch the time - a delivery guy entered the lobby and I looked up at the ceiling, hoping for some guidance because I so had the feeling it was for me.  
“I’m so not in Kansas anymore.” I muttered as the delivery guy stopped in front of my desk, with a confused expression on his face.  
“Uh.,.. Andrea Sachs?” He asked and I froze. Because the only other person I’ve ever heard to utter my name like that, with that exact same accent, was Miranda Priestly.   
I swallowed and nodded and as the previous two times, I got a gift deposited in front of me.  
I was staring at it so hard I didn’t even notice the guy leaving.  
It was a box of chocolates. A box of very fancy chocolates, mind you. Actually… I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head. I’ve seen this type of chocolate before.   
I almost gasped at the realization of where I did. It was the exact same kind Miranda sent out to her most loyal followers… uhm I mean designers on their birthdays. That… that surely must have been a coincidence. There’s no was Miranda fucking Priestly is my secret admirer.   
I took a deep breath and took the card out from the little envelope attached to the box.   
“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.”   
For the next ten minutes I munched on the bonbons and read that one, lonely line over and over again as the card lay on the table in front of me. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice the shadow that fell on my desk, until it’s owner cleared her throat.  
In front of me stood the Devil in Prada herself, with hands on her hips and one of her eyebrows raised in a silent question.   
I was pretty sure I looked like a deer in the headlights. I searched my mind to say something, anything, but she sighed and rolled her eyes before reaching down and turning the card over on the table. On the other side of the small white piece of paper, there was another, carefully printed line:  
“Dinner at the townhouse tonight?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to declare that when I wrote the first chapter, I had absolutely no plans to follow it up with a second one or a sequel. I have toyed with the idea I must admit, especially after the success it had, but I never actually had an idea as to what to write. I’m ashamed to say that it took me two years to finally succumb to the best review I ever got, open up my laptop - that I haven’t used in ages - and start to type these words.   
> So, this one is for you, AnneCuffed, and your amazing review. I hope Seven of Nine will find it near as perfect, Miranda Priestly won’t purse her lips, Dr. Maura Isles will get better and Alex Cabot will drop the case. And lastly, I hope Xena will find it good enough to reward me with a kiss, instead of her chakram.   
> I present to you, my Earl Grey and nicotine infused late night extravaganza, and hope you don’t mind that I wrote it clad in only Guns n Roses boxers and a cut-off shirt. (Written from 11:33pm till 2am of the same night) Also, I’m a lazy piece of poop. Haven’t proofread

When I finally got back to my apartment at 2am, I was exhausted. My hair escaped from my messy bun, I was carrying my killer shoes in my hand while tip toeing inside on my bare feet - my stockings were in the bottom of my bag, somewhere, and I was sure my lipstick vanished from my lips hours ago. My heels fell to the floor with a loud thud in the silent apartment and I let out a deep sigh as I let my bag join them on the floor after I fished out my phone. My whole body was sore and I grunted as I stripped myself on the way to my bed. I let myself fall on the soft surface and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. My phone chirped and when I unlocked the screen, the brightness made me wince.  
I’m sorry.  
I blinked in surprise and checked the sender again. There was no mistake, it was from Miranda. I never heard her apologize for anything, and the thought that she apologized to me for something that wasn’t even her fault, made me smile tiredly. Even the Queen of Fashion could not control computers or printers. But they did broke down at the very worst moment, that’s sure.  
I was nervous all afternoon after I said yes to dinner, but it was a good kind of nervous. The kind of nervous you get on Christmas morning, the kind filled with anticipation. But then, just fifteen minutes before leaving the office, all hell broke loose.  
I was still not sure what happened to the computers and printers, because as soon as the words “half issue lost” reached my ears I went into panic mode and Miranda into Dragon Lady mode. Hours of running around and making angry phone calls managed to get the backup files from the various departments to the printers, so at the very end the catastrophe was averted, or at least postponed, but the day have been ruined. Miranda was still angry in the car - she had Roy bring me home before her but she didn’t say anything to me on the way besides a curt ‘goodnight’ before I closed the car door.  
Logically, I knew this only meant dinner was postponed, not cancelled for ever - but when did Miranda Priestly ever obey the logic of ordinary people? 

I was late. I was almost five whole minutes late, which in Miranda Priestly time meant at least half an hour. I was running as fast as I could in heels while carrying a bag on my shoulder, Miranda’s hot as the middle of Hell coffee in my hand while trying to sip from mine. In hindsight trying to drink wasn’t a smart idea but I was running on four hours of sleep and the only thoughts on my mind were “shit” and “I’m late”, with the occasional “I’m going to die” thrown into the mix.  
I rushed into the building, dodging people left and right, and when I neared the lifts I shouted:  
“Miranda’s coffee!” The people in front of me parted and I just managed to make myself stop in front of the closed doors of the elevator. I glanced at my watch, wishing for the damn doors to open - I was seven minutes late, a panting mess, when, even with the bustling of the lobby, I heard the sounds that made my heart freeze. The unmistakable sounds of a pair of high heels on the marble floor that announced the presence of the Dragon. The people around me fell silent just as the lift arrived, and without even pausing Miranda strolled into the lift, her expensive coat brushing my arm. She turned around with a graceful move, and with a barely noticeable move of her eyes, motioned me in. I managed to make my legs move just as the doors started to close and pushed the button that would bring us up to the Devil’s Den. I catched the eye of a terrified Karen from HR just as the doors closed, and the next moment Miranda grabbed the coffee cup out of my hand and took a sip. I froze in the middle of a gasp, my hand extended towards the cup, but it was too late. She already took a sip from my coffee. I was fucked. And not in the enjoyable way.  
She looked at the cup in her hand with confusion before turning to me, still frozen on the spot. I fearfully extended my other hand towards her with her coffee and she took it, brushing my fingers when I took my coffee back. She glanced at my face and chuckled.  
“You should cut back on the sugar, dear”, she said just as the doors opened on our floor, and I was sure if I wasn’t busy trying to catch up with her, I would have fainted from the pet name and the lack of insults. 

Overall, the day wasn’t so bad. Things were running mostly smoothly - so I really didn’t have a reason for being a nervous wreck and snapping at a surprisingly competent second assistant (number five of the week, if my calculations were correct). But I still did. Because there was only one things worse than being chewed out by Miranda - her silence. Aparts from the morning instructions after the coffee mishap and a silently uttered “Coat. Bag.” before she left for a lunch meeting, she was completely silent. It made my eyebrow twitch.  
She was still not back by 3pm, which actually wasn’t that big of a problem - for some reason her afternoon was completely free -, but the silence was killing me. There was not even a short call or God forbid a text message with some instructions. Nada. Nuthin’.  
At four I sent a message to Roy, and for the five minutes it took him to reply, I chewed my nails off. At this point I was pretty sure the new assistant thought I was mental. Rightly so, probably. As it turned out, she was at home. And as much as that should have calmed me down, it made me even more nervous. Miranda Priestly did not take off a whole afternoon just because she had a late night, even if it was a Friday afternoon. That would have been like Voldemort inviting Hermione Granger for a chat about the freedom of elfs.  
At five o'clock, just as I contemplated the cons and pros of Xanax, a delivery man strolled into the office. I looked up at the ceiling for guidance with a groan. He stopped in front of my desk uncertainly and I thrusted out my hand for the white box he was holding, and grunted something that could have been ‘thanks’, but sounded more like a wounded potato. I didn’t even register him leaving as I practically tore the box open - a white rose with thorns, just as I expected. I took out the little card with a shaking hand. This time, the message was hand written, Miranda’s elegant letters a sharp contrast on the paper.  
“Roy will pick you up at 6. Dress appropriately. “  
For a long moment I remained silent, but then a nervous giggle escaped me, which soon turned into hysterical. Appropriately for what? My funeral? A quick shag in the car? To meet the president?  
At this point I looked up, still giggling, and met the eyes of the woman sitting across from me. I could see it in her eyes. She was absolutely sure that I’ve gone mental. I stopped giggling and stood up suddenly, making her jump.  
“Man the phones.” With those words, I left the office, briefly wondering if she would call Karen, claiming the assistant had gone crazy. I wouldn't have blamed her. 

“What would Miranda claim appropriate for a date?” I asked a shocked Nigel as his office door closed after me with a loud snap. He stared at me for a long moment, still bent over some photos. He straightened up slowly and asked carefully:  
“Did she tell you to pick out her clothes for a date?”  
“No”, I answered, feeling the twitch coming back. I cleared my throat.  
“She asked me out.” Nigel stared at me for a long moment, and I was starting to think that maybe I really have gone mental.  
“Where?” he asked finally.  
“I have no idea.”  
“Shit.” My sentiments exactly. 

At the end we settled on a black skirt, that was probably shorter than I would have ever considered wearing, with a cerulean blue top - according to Nigel, since I had the balls to go on a date with the Devil in Prada, I was brave enough to wear that certain shade of blue. I told him I wanted white lilies on my funeral. He made me put on some very suggestive underwear, telling me “you can never know what happens” with a wink. The only thing I could think of was how my grandma always told me to wear nice underwear in case I ended up in the hospital. 

Roy stopped the car in front of the townhouse, and I sat in silence there for about a minute, until he cleared his throat and I finally managed to girl the hell up and get out. My courage lasted until the top of the stairs, where I stood in front of the door nervously. Do I knock? Ring the bell? Just go in? Run away?  
I was clutching my little bag to my stomach, my knuckles turning white, when the door suddenly opened and Miranda Priestly stood in front of me in black pants and a revealing white top, barefoot. I briefly registered that I probably could have named the brands she was wearing, if I didn’t feel like fainting.  
“Were you planning on knocking?” She asked with a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes seemed uncertain, and that made me feel better.  
“Eventually”, I managed with a small smile, and she stepped aside to let me in, closing the door behind me quietly. That was it. No turning back. I as about to have a date with Miranda Priestly.  
She took my coat, brushing my fingers and put it in the closet before giving me a slow look. She smiled devilishly at me.  
“Bold choice” she said, fingering the hem of my top, and I shrugged, faking the confidence that I left somewhere at the offices.  
“Go big or go home.” I winced at my own words but she threw her head back and let out a laugh that I never heard from her before. When she looked at me again, her eyes were a blazing blue, full of excitement and happiness.  
She took my hand into hers and lead me to the kitchen, and when she handed me a glass of wine, I thought that maybe, we both have gone mental.


End file.
